All It Takes
by Cyny
Summary: The power of the choices we make. A despairing Harry finds out how one small thing has the power to determine the course of more than one life. A 7th/1st year story. R/R Please and thanks!
1. Basin of Edis

Note:  I am not trying to take over J.K. Rowling's job.  I do not own Harry Potter.  The characters and many of the situations (though not quite the same) are property of J.K. Rowling, and I am just borrowing (muaha) them.  I'll try to give them back better than they were when I found them. :o)

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Chapter One

His Quidditch robes were wet, dirty, and torn.  Blood stained parts of them red, but their original color was unrecognizable.

He stumbled up the dark corridor covered in cuts and bruises, burns and welts.  His right elbow was shattered, but he'd not yet had a thought about seeing the nurse.

There was someone he needed to speak to more.

The stone gargoyle suddenly loomed out of the darkness.  He paused to catch his breath, leaning heavily against the statue.  Before he could muster up the energy to speak the password, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.  Praying it wasn't Snape or Filch, he froze, wondering if a boy clinging desperately to a gargoyle would look terribly out of place to a passing teacher.

The steps faltered.  "Harry!"

Dumbledore lifted his lantern high.  "It _is_ you.  I've been searching all over.  I was about to try the hospital wing…"  He chuckled.  "But I should know you better by now.

He wrapped an arm around Harry, helping him back to his feet.

"Sugar quill."

The gargoyle leapt aside.  Stepping up to the staircase, Dumbledore casually said, "I'm glad you weren't still holding on when he did that."

Harry hung his head in shame.  Lost in his thoughts, he was not aware of entering the headmaster's office, but suddenly he realized that he was in a familiar chair.  Professor Dumbledore watched him from across his desk.

"I've let everyone down, Professor."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes did not blink or look away from Harry's, and he did not speak.

Unnerved, the boy continued.  "I didn't stop him."

"You didn't?"  The headmaster sounded surprised.  Harry's stomach gave a lurch.  Could Professor Dumbledore _not know_?

"No sir."  His voice fell to a whisper.  "He got away."

"So you mean 'I didn't stop him' in the sense that you did not stop Voldemort from escaping the forest, not that you did not prevent him from murdering half the school during a Quidditch match?"

A pair of puzzled green eyes slowly worked their way up from the floor until the two wizards were eye to eye again.

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair.  "Listen, Harry.  What you did tonight was selfless and brave.  You kept Voldemort from advancing nearer to the school, and while you may not have handed him his final defeat, you gave him yet another reason to fear you.  And if I may add, I thought that catching the snitch as you were grabbing your forehead and flying like mad toward the forest was a rather impressive play."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore quickly added, "You know, Roderick Plumpton maintained to his death that he meant to catch the snitch up his sleeve.  There's no need to tell that you had no intention of getting the snitch before you flew off.  I'm sure your fans will be that much more awed."

"I don't deserve fans.  Professor, maybe what you said is true, but how can I know for sure?"

"Ah, you cannot.  That is a lesson you must learn.  Everyone doubts their ability, their actions, their decisions.  Having doubts does not make you a failure, but trusting them will.  You should stop listening to your head.  Start listening to your heart.  Up here, your head is telling you all that you think you did wrong this evening, but in here, your heart is trying to let you know that you did what was right.  Which of them is correct?"

Harry dropped his gaze.

"You saved a lot of lives tonight.  You chased Voldemort away from Hogwarts.  He knows you will be the end of him.  The only real question is when.  You're seventeen Harry, and you've got the most powerful dark wizard any person can still remember living in fear.  That's amazing."

Neither spoke for several moments.  Finally, Dumbledore looked up and murmured, "It is time, then."  He turned and walked through the door behind him.

Harry closed his eyes.  He'd forgotten his exhaustion while speaking with the headmaster, but it returned in one giant wave just seconds after Dumbledore left.  Every muscle in his body ached, pain seared up and down his right arm, and he had a splitting headache from the prolonged burning of his scar.  He looked down at his ruined Quidditch robes, encrusted in mud.  Briefly he thought about picking them off and throwing them away, but the clothes he'd worn beneath them did not seem to be much better off.

He attempted to shift in his seat, but jarred his elbow.  Crying out in surprise and pain, he froze, willing the sharp twinge to abate.  In a rush of feathers, Fawkes landed on the arm of Harry's chair, shedding his tears on the injured arm.  The boy stretched his arm out gingerly and smiled.  "Thanks Fawkes."

He'd only just relaxed back into the chair when Dumbledore returned, carrying a large stone bowl, which he placed on his desk.

Smiling reassuringly, he said, "You're looking some better.  I trust Fawkes took care of you."

Harry nodded, still mindful of the pounding in his head.

Dumbledore looked appreciatively at the phoenix.  "I think he alone understands your complete disregard for medical facilities."

Harry did not reply.  He was staring at the bowl, wondering what could be so terribly important about it.  "What is that, Professor?"

"This is the Basin of Edis.  Go ahead, have a closer look.  I'm giving it to you."

"But why, sir?"  
"It is clear to me that you were meant to have it.  I have known, in a way, since the first day I saw you here at Hogwarts.  I just wondered when the time would be right.  It is now."

Harry leaned forward, studying the basin.  It kind of reminded him of the Pensieve he'd seen in this very office, but instead of runes carved around the rim, there were words.

"Edis reh to ehte esi.  What does that mean?"

"It is rumored," Dumbledore replied, "that the wizard who created this basin was also the maker of the Mirror of Erised."

"I see the other side," Harry whispered.

The headmaster's smile grew wider.  "I _am_ impressed.  For six years I have pondered if you picked up on that, Mr. Potter.  Ten points to Gryffindor for satisfying my curiosity."

"It sees the other side… but of what?"  
"The choices you make, Harry.  When you touch this basin, it will feel what is in your heart.  The basin will fill, and when you look into it, it will take you back to a single decision in your life.  But instead of making that choice, you will choose differently.  Then you will see what happens as a result."

"So it will show me what would have happened if I hadn't gone after Voldemort today?"

"Maybe, but I don't think that is what you will see.  The cause of your despair is not so shallow, I think.  The Basin of Edis will reach much deeper."

"Wow."

"Yes, wow indeed.  It is a powerful tool.  I trust you will have the wisdom to know when to use it and when it is best to not know.  Just as men have wasted away before the mirror, many have suffered heartbreak while letting this basin show them what might have been."

There was a long pause, the two wizards watching each other as if waiting for the other to move.  Harry broke eye contact first, reaching out until his fingers touched the cool stone.  What looked like rays of light poured into the basin, filling it quickly.

"One choice.  That's all it takes to change the world, Harry Potter," Dumbledore reminded, sounding suddenly far away.

Cautiously, the boy leaned forward so he was looking into the basin.  The light gathered to the sides, and Harry realized he was looking at Number 4, Privet Drive.  Abruptly, the world tipped so he was falling, and he instinctively closed his eyes.  When at last they opened again, Harry could hardly believe what he saw.

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Thanks for reading!  See the little button that says "go?"  Go ahead and click on that to tell me what you think.  This story has been brought to you by my very persistent muse.  I'm very sorry I yelled at you.  Also reader, do not despair over the fate of "A Lion's Heart."  I am not letting it die.  In fact, finishing this first chapter has cleared my mind, and I spent this evening blazing my way into chapter three.  Thanks again for your attention. –Carlyn


	2. The Change

Howdy, all you members of reader land!  Well here it is; the long awaited second chapter!!!!!  (canned applause)  In this chapter you get to find out where the Basin of Edis takes Harry as well as what changes in his life all for one low price!  Meanwhile, I'd also like to shamelessly grovel at the feet of my reviewers: **Adele, Kat Hallowell, Erin, Mary, Phoenix Flight, **and **Fawks'n'Padfoot**.  You six are my heros; thanks for your kind words.  All of you slackers should check out their writing when you, of course, finishing reading and reviewing this :)  This chapter was a blast to write, hope it's a blast to read.

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            Chapter Two

For a few moments, Harry felt a keen sense of déjà vu.  He closed his eyes, trying to grasp exactly what seemed so familiar about the situation but to no avail.  The sensation slowly faded to nothing.  He opened his eyes, looking again at Number Four, Privet Drive in the distance.  Home.  No, that word would never fit _that_ place.  Not for him.  

Harry felt the deep, familiar longing for his parents… no, not quite.  Just a place to call home, to really belong.  The creepy feeling of having been there before washed over him again.  It was almost like he knew of a place and had just forgotten.  Harry blinked a few times, deciding he should have passed on the chocolate cake.

"Are they back, dear?"

A bit startled, Harry quickly glanced to where he could just make out the car, now parked in the drive.  "Yes, just."

"You'd best run along them."

Fighting the impulse to ask her to give him some excuse to stay longer, the boy merely smiled and politely stated, "Thank you for the cake, Mrs. Figg."

"Anytime, dear.  Now don't keep your aunt and uncle waiting."

Harry was positive that the Dursley's weren't counting the seconds until he came in the door; they'd be perfectly happy if he never showed up again.  Slowly the boy made his way back to Privet Drive, thankful he could stretch the two-street distance for all it was worth.  In the waning midsummer light, he could almost pretend that he was somewhere else, actually enjoying his holiday rather than praying for it to end.

Harry stopped, as he was facing the front door.  The brass four reflected the setting rays of the sun, making the number appear to be alive with flame.  Harry slowly moved his hand to the doorknob, relishing his last few moments of peace.  Before he'd mustered up the willingness to actually turn, however, the door opened.  He stumbled forward, as his hand had been tight around the knob, and he still wore an expression of surprise that irritated Petunia Dursley immensely.

"_There_ you are," she snapped.  "Took your sweet time getting home, you did.  I've half a mind to send you to your cupboard without any dinner.  Hurry and wash up."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," the boy replied meekly, pulse still racing at the unexpected flinging open of the door with his arm attached to it.  He made his way quickly to the bathroom, washed his hands and face quickly, and attempted to make his hair lie flat albeit unsuccessfully.  After a short examination in the mirror, Harry decided it'd have to do if he wanted something to eat before the morning next.  

Returning to the table where the Dursleys had just begun to pass around the food, the boy didn't even flinch at a dark look from his uncle.

"Took you long enough to find your way back," he barked as means of greeting.  "You need a hair cut."

"J'get lost?" asked Dudley through a mouthful of roast.  "Quite stupid of you."

Harry didn't answer.  In fact, he did not speak all through dinner.  All he wanted was the solace of his cupboard, to forget, to escape.

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After dinner, Harry rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, setting world records for speed.  He cautiously approached the door to the living room from where the dull sounds of his aunt and uncle's voices originated.  He jumped slightly as he heard Dudley come thumping down the stairs like an excited rhinoceros.  

Vernon and Petunia's voices became more muffled.  Harry guessed that they had turned toward the other side of the room.  If he were very quiet about it, he could creep through the door and to his cupboard without any notice.

With extreme caution, Harry turned the knob and pulled the door silently open.  Creeping into the hall and shutting it without a sound, the boy began taking careful, measured steps keeping total focus on the cupboard door.  Now the difficult part: the last leg of his journey would lead him straight out into the open.  He heard the definitive sound of a camera, but he did not see the flash.  Harry thought this was a good sign.  The Dursleys' attention was still elsewhere.  

The boy breathed deeply and then took his first step out into the living room.  With a soft _creeeeak_ the floorboards greeted his foot.  Harry froze, closing his eyes and praying no one was listening.

"You, boy.  In here."

Prying his eyes open again, he caught a vision of his uncle beckoning with a tensely crooked finger.  Harry sighed, dropping his shoulders in defeat.  He turned and nearly fell over in hysterical laughter right then and there.  A sharp pain in his chest was the result of his last-moment attempt to halt his near outburst of giggles.  

Dudley was strutting proudly in front of the fireplace in the most ridiculous outfit Harry had seen in his life.  He wore a pair of orange knickerbockers complemented by a maroon tailcoat and topped off with a flat straw hat.  In his right arm he held a long knotted stick.  Harry forced himself to look away as he was nearly overcome with the desperate _need_ to laugh.  He covered up poorly by coughing a few times, but his aunt and uncle were in no state to notice.

Petunia was openly sobbing, gripping her husband's arm and looking like she was about to fall over.

"My Ickle Dudleykins," she repeated several times when she was capable of words.

Uncle Vernon said only, "This is the proudest moment of my life," in a rather thick voice then suddenly felt the need to continue comforting his wife.

"Vernon, look at him.  He's so handsome – and grown up-"      

Whether Dudley was anything else, Harry would never know as he nearly crawled back to his cupboard where he allowed himself to laugh into his pillow for a full ten minutes.  For a long time afterwards, the boy lie in his bed glad that _he_ was not going to Smeltings and feeling at last the hope that this fall would open a new and better chapter in his life.  Though it felt but minutes, he lay away for a long time before at last falling asleep with a smile and dreaming dreams he would not remember in the morning.

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Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust.  He'd been awake for about a whole five seconds, but it had not taken him that long to realize that it smelled absolutely terrible.  Dragging himself up out of bed with a groan and a grimace, he stumbled into the kitchen.  The smell seemed to be wafting out of a pan in the sink.

Repulsed by the stench but undeniably curious, the boy wandered over and looked into the pan.  With watering eyes he saw what looked like dirty rags swimming in old bath water.  

His aunt bustled into the kitchen.  "Good, you're up."

"What's this?" he wondered, missing Petunia's sour reaction.

"Your new school uniform," she replied without looking at him.

Harry studied his "uniform" for a few more moments with an expression of skepticism.

"Oh…"  He hesitated.  "I-I didn't realize-"

His aunt's head snapped up so fast that he abruptly decided to go somewhere else with that thought.

"It had to be so… wet," Harry concluded.

"Don't be stupid.  I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you.  It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

"Sure it will," the boy muttered under his breath.  He wished his nose hadn't led him here as he took a seat at the table.  While he waited, he tried to block all the mental images of how he was going to look on his first day of school.  Suddenly the thought of going to Stonewall High seemed terribly depressing, and he'd been looking forward to it all summer.

Harry was so lost in thought that he did not notice his uncle and cousin enter, echoing his sentiments at the reeking odor, until Dudley smacked his stick onto the table, causing him to start.

"My, you're jumpy," Dudley commented, flopping into his chair.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in response.  This day was getting off to a terrible beginning.

His cousin was just about to retaliate as a result of the dark look, but his action was halted as the mail slot clanged shut.

Immediately following, Uncle Vernon said, "Get the mail, Dudley," through the paper he was reading.

Dudley frowned.  "Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry," ordered Vernon as if he had never made the request of his son.

Dudley poked his tongue out tauntingly at his cousin.  Harry made a disgusted face at the paper his uncle was reading.  "Make _Dudley_ get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley," Uncle Vernon simply replied.

Harry ducked; his cousin's swing swept harmlessly over his head.  Continuing his motion, the boy left his chair and strode from the kitchen in order to retrieve the mail.  He picked up the mail from where it landed on the doormat.  First, a postcard from his "Aunt" Marge, Uncle Vernon's sister, currently vacationing.  Next, a plain envelope, likely containing a bill.  As he moved it to the bottom of the stack, he caught sight of the address on the final piece of mail.  It was for _him_.

On the thick, yellow parchment was enscribed in emerald lettering: 

                        Mr. H Potter

                        The Cupboard under the Stairs

                        4 Privet Drives

                        Little Whinging 

                        Surrey

Harry could hardly catch his breath.  Why would someone be writing him?  Who would know that he slept in a cupboard?  For a moment the whole thing seemed so wildly unreal that the boy rubbed his eyes again and again expecting to see a different name each time he looked back down at the envelope.  Time seemed frozen as all at once it hit him that the letter was really for him.

Trembling uncontrollably, Harry flipped the envelope over.  It was sealed in purple wax stamped with a coat of arms.  The letter H surrounded by a lion, eagle, badger, and snake.

A thought occurred to him and he turned again to the front.  _His letter did not have a stamp_.

"Hurry up, boy!  What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" yelled Uncle Vernon from the kitchen.

Harry realized that it must have been an obscenely long time he'd been absent from breakfast.  He began to make his way back, working at the seal on his envelope.  

Before he could open the door, however, something stopped him in his tracks.  His thoughts were racing through his mind, but his feet felt cemented.  Almost automatically, the hand holding his letter slid it into his pocket.  He didn't really feel like sharing his first ever letter, especially if it happened to be exceptionally good or important.

Smiling to himself about the sudden upswing in the quality of his morning, the boy returned to the kitchen and handed the postcard and bill to his uncle. While his uncle read the message from his sister aloud to the family, Harry itched for the evening to come, when he might have a little privacy to open and read his mail.  As always seems to happen when there is something to look forward to, the hours in the day seemed to drag past, and the envelope in Harry's pocket was a great weight to him all day.

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See the little button that says "Go?"  You should listen…

Thanks, -Carlyn


	3. Responses

Well here it is, everyone's favorite (and arguably, the best written) part of the chapter: the author's note!!!  This chapter, for some reason, had a very difficult transition from my mind to the computer screen.  I think it was my muse's revenge, as I yelled at him for bothering me when I had English essays to write when he wanted me to write the chapter.  Anyway, I still like it.  Not that I'm biased.  Or anything.  Or speaking Hafling.  

Well time for the shout out to chapter 2 reviewers who I dearly love.  I would be starved for attention and encouragement without you all.

**Adele – **My great friend, and a great writer.  If you have _not_ read (perhaps because you're totally PSYCHO) "Fixing to Fly," "To Break a Snake," and "Jade Eyes" _run _DON'T walk.  Honestly, just the fact that you have 809387423894 reviews and like my writing makes me feel like I have lots of reviews too.  You're worth a million.

**Kat** – Another great writer I am totally honored to know.  You are going to be, heck you are already, SO INCREDIBLE.  I cannot even imagine how powerful your writing will be in a few years.  I mean, it knocks my socks off how talented you are.  When I was your age, my writing sucked, basically.  Likewise to all of you reading, if you've not read "Wild Kat" or "Angel in the Snow," I suggest you do not wait.

**Elliza** – *Sniffle* no more AP Calc review parties.  Thanks for being a reviewer even though you see me every single day.  I hope your story (and your awesome bio) make it up soon!  I'm telling you people, you are MISSING OUT on this girl's story.

**Amerz** – My friend-turned-writer.  I really enjoy "Year of the Gryffindor," (ah HEM, hint hint READ)  I hope you keep writing!

**Phoenix Flight **– Thanks for the outright encouragement.  I really appreciate it.

**Kateydidnt – **Thanks for your thoughts.  Your enthusiasm made me smile.

Here goes, bon apatite!

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Hours had passed since darkness had washed over everything, first blanketing the neighborhood and then claiming the house.  The last downstairs light had lingered for what seemed like forever, but it too succumbed when Uncle Vernon turned off the news and went to bed.  Harry hadn't seen or heard even the slightest movements since, but he was still afraid.

He lay flat on his back, still wearing his glasses.  The yellowed envelope was laid casually on his chest as if of no importance to him.  Nothing at that moment could have been farther from the truth.  Harry had never been so curious about anything before.  His mind asked questions nonstop, one right after another, and about once a minute his arms twitched as if they would grab the letter and tear it open.

"Just a little longer," he whispered reassuringly to himself after one such episode.

_What if you've been torturing yourself all day over this letter and it's nothing?_ his brain wondered.

"I can't hurry it and ruin the whole thing," he responded softly, although realizing this was _not_ an answer to the question.

The clock in the living room chimed, scaring him more than he wished to admit.  One… two.  Two o'clock.

"You need to calm down," he told himself.  The sound of his heart pounding in his chest sounded louder than his voice.  He braced himself for the sound of Uncle Vernon pounding down the stairs yelling, "Harry, what is that racket?!" and seizing his letter.

His letter.  It was two, nearly three hours since everyone retired.  If there was going to be a safe time, it was now.  Afraid of even the tiniest creak, Harry painstakingly pushed himself into a sitting position.  Drawing his legs in until he was sitting more comfortably, he breathed a silent sigh of relief that he'd produced no more noise than the slightest rustle of sheets.  _Advantage number three for living in a cupboard_, he thought with a small smile.

Harry reached for the flashlight he'd taken from the kitchen drawer after dinner.  Wanting both hands free for the all-important activity of reading his first letter, he rolled his sheet into a ball and set the flashlight down on it so it pointed down at the surface of his bed and lit a small area.

Holding the letter in the light, he gingerly peeled the wax seal from the paper trying his best not to break it.  It came up easily, and he eagerly pulled out a thick sheaf of papers.  Unfolding it slowly, he had to fight to keep his eyes focused on the paper, as if what he held in his hands would suddenly disintegrate if he tried to read it.  Finally, stilling his heart and calming his shallow, gasping breaths, he read: 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WHITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins September 1.  We await your owl by no later that July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress 

For nearly three minutes, Harry sat staring blankly at the letter with his jaw agape.  This really _was_ a dream.  A really odd dream.  A _wizard_ school?

"But they knew about my cupboard.  My cupboard…" he murmured, at last finding his voice and with it, the will to look at the next piece of paper.

It was obviously the list mentioned on the letter.  His eyes scanned over it, catching words like _wand, owl, cauldron, dragon, _and _robes_.  Harry was itching to study it, but the third sheet of parchment called to him more strongly.  Dropping the supplies list on top of his acceptance letter, he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Dear Mr. Potter,

Congratulations at being accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  We here are well aware of your situation, and desire to make your transition back into the world of magic as easy as possible.  

I hope you will not mind that Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to sign you up for "Muggle Day" in Diagon Alley taking place this July 12.  We realize that you have grown up in a Muggle household and will not know how to reach the Alley to buy your supplies.

Please include in your return letter if you would like to be included in this event.  If not, I am sure we can arrange to have your supplies purchased and sent to you with your train ticket.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

_Deputy Headmistress_

If Harry had thought his mind was full of questions before, it was nothing compared to the new onslaught.  _What is a Muggle?  Where is Diagon Alley?  What does she mean, '_back_ into the world of magic?'  _And then with a jolt, _How am I supposed to find an owl to mail my response?_

"Wait a minute," he told himself in a voice, slightly louder than he'd intended.  In response, his thoughts died down.  Except for one.  _You really believe this place exists._

"Okay," he rationalized, "I got a letter without a _stamp_ in the mail today.  With my cupboard on it.  From a magic school.  Where they think I'm a wizard."

_I can't be a wizard, can I?  I've never done magic in my life, not even a stupid card trick._  

Or had he?  He suddenly thought about the python at the zoo, the shrunken sweater, the grown-back hair, and finding himself on the roof.  

"That _wasn't _magic."

_Well what was it then?_

"Weird."

But even as he spoke it, Harry knew there was only one real way to find out.  He was going to write them back.

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            At six, an hour before the family typically began to wake, Harry slipped out of his cupboard, making for the roll top desk across the living room.  He carefully lifted it, removing an envelope before retreating to the sanctuary of his tiny living space.

After a few minutes of thought, he addressed the envelope: 

Headmistress McGonagall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Well, that's all really," he commented aloud, still vaguely wondering why he was going along with this.  It could be some elaborate mail hoax, but one look around his cupboard and he was pulling out the letter he'd written.

Dear Headmistress McGonagall,

Thank you for your congratulations.  I was very excited to receive my letter of acceptance.  I also express my appreciation for your understanding and would very much like to be involved in Muggle Day.  I look forward to July 12.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Short and sweet, perfect.  Now for the difficult part, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to mail it.  He decided he could go out and wait for the postman. If he had brought the letter with the other mail, maybe he'd know where to take it.

"We await your owl…" he read.  The only problem was that Harry didn't own an owl.  _I've never even seen an owl before, not even at the zoo.  Even if he had, he wasn't sure that giving it his letter would be a good idea._

Dubiously, he exited his cupboard again, this time heading out the front door into the early morning light.  He looked up and down Privet Drive several times.  No postman yet, and definitely no owls…

Suddenly, something swooped out of the sky and landed on the garden wall.  He stifled a surprised yelp, throwing his free hand over his mouth.  That was the last thing he needed, to be so close and have his aunt or uncle leaning out the window asking why he was out in the driveway at 6:30 in the morning, yelling because some bloody _owl_ almost fell on his head.

"_Bloody owl," he repeated with a scowl._

Suddenly realizing what he was saying, Harry turned slowly afraid that, in his shock and stupidity, it had flown away.  But there it sat, a mottled brown owl on the wall, looking straight at him.

Harry suddenly felt a bit foolish.  "Er… right then.  I'm Harry.  You're an owl… obviously.  I'm trying to mail this letter to… er, Hogwarts.  Have you heard of it?  It said to give it to an owl… and you're an owl.  We've established that."

The owl merely continued to look at him in a rather impatient way, snapping its beak several times.  It gave Harry the impression that it was trying to tell him to hurry up.

"So, how do I know if you're an, er, letter owl?"

In a blur of feathers, the owl flew straight at him.  Shielding himself, the boy was surprised when the bird landed on an outstretched arm, grabbed the letter with his beak, and took off into the air.

_So what just happened, was that good or bad?_  

"Not sure," he answered himself.  "But I think I'm definitely going to need some magic to explain this to _them."  He looked up at the bedroom window before walking inside, all the while his mind at work._

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Harry had been holding his breath, in an off and on again type fashion, since he'd crawled back into the cupboard.  It had been nearly a half hour; someone should be heading down to breakfast soon.  Right on cue, soft footsteps Harry quickly identified as Aunt Petunia's passed over his head.  She reached the bottom, turned, and walked towards the kitchen.

Pausing outside his door, she rapped sharply.  "Up." 

He frowned.  Not only was this wakeup routine extremely annoying, but he was also apprehensive about how this plan would work out.  He'd wanted to believe that as long as the owl that stole his letter made it to that McGonagall woman, someone would come and get him, but the more he thought about it, the less sure he was.  The Dursleys could lock him up or claim he died when someone showed up at the door asking for him.

"Please let this work," he whispered to the ceiling as Uncle Vernon trudged down the stairs.

"Are you up yet?" he barked at the closed door.

"Yes, I'm coming."

Harry popped out of the cupboard and followed his into the kitchen.

"Mind the bacon," his aunt ordered, moving to pour her husband some tea.

Harry poked at the sizzling meat as he carefully watched his uncle sip the tea and move to pick up his newspaper.

"Petunia, what's this?" he asked, noticing the yellowed corner of Harry's envelope sticking out from under the paper.

"What's what?"  She looked up from the toast she was buttering with a befuddled expression.

"This," he replied, pulling it out and looking it over.  "It's an envelope with Harry's name on it, and-"  His voice caught.

"And _what?"  She was obviously unnerved by his odd behavior._

"The cupboard."

"Let _me see it," she commanded curtly, moving over to the table. _

Harry now fully ignored the bacon, watching with unbridled interest.

"I don't know," his aunt was saying.  "I've never seen this before."  As she spoke, she'd turned the letter over in her hands.  "Oh God."

Turning to Harry with a wildly fearful look in her eyes, she nearly screamed, "Bacon!  Cook the bacon!"

The boy ignored her, but Petunia hadn't noticed.  She was whispering to her husband who was becoming paler by the second and wringing his hands together.

Dudley stumbled into the kitchen.  He looked irritably at his cousin.  "Are you burning the bacon?"

"No, shut up," Harry snapped.

The blond boy's eyes gleamed meanly.  "Mum, Harry's burning breakfast!"

When this did not procure a response, he looked sullenly at the table.  "What's going on?"  
            Vernon's head shot up.  With a frantic expression, he said, "Dudley, how about you go outside and play."

"_Play?" he repeated incredulously._

"Ride your bike or, um, chase some birds or something."

"I haven't even had breakfast," Dudley whined.

"Just go!" his father shrieked nearly knocking over the table.

Dudley went, and Harry had to suppress his giggles at the image of his fat cousin trying to hunt down a bird and cook it.

It was easy to put and end to his mirth, however, when his uncle's finger pointed straight at him.  "You," was all he could manage, in a terrifying and deadly voice.

Harry calmly turned off the stove, not even phased by the burnt bacon. He moved over to the table, feeling adrenaline releasing into his blood.

"_Where are the contents of this envelope?"_

He answered in a voice low and quiet.  "Hidden."

The paleness of Uncle Vernon's face was quickly being overcome by a fierce, bright red.  "You will give the letter to me."

Harry braced himself, preparing to be defiant.  Then he had a better idea.  Dropping his shoulders as if in defeat, the boy slowly pulled a single sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

His uncle read it over quickly and then ripped it up in a rage.  "You will not be going anywhere except Stonewall High, do you understand?"

"_I do."_

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I understand you, but I don't think you understand them," Harry stated simply.

"_Who?"_

"The wizards… you can't stop them.  They're coming for me."

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Make good choices, review.  –Carlyn


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